


Waking Dreams

by lilithqueen



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, maybe a little angsty because Onni is as romantically adept as a shoe, mentions of past sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7090957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithqueen/pseuds/lilithqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the team's triumphant return from the Silent World, Reynir and Onni have to deal with the relationship they forged in the dreamscape during it. This would be much easier if either of them would use their words. And if Onni wasn't afraid of everything.</p><p>Background events for several portions of this fic are contained in "Homecoming," but you don't have to read that to read this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rybari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rybari/gifts).



Being called a hero—even though he didn’t really feel like one—was kind of cool. Finding out via letters that his parents were _not_ killing him, disowning him, and then never talking to him again for making them worry was definitely cool. Getting to study magic, that was really cool.

Sitting in a chair next to Tuuri, acutely aware of Onni (in his full dress uniform, crisp and neat and solid and _so handsome_ ) on her other side…that was not cool. His suit felt too tight and too restrictive; the heavy, fancy braid Emil had wrestled his hair into had looked good an hour ago, but seemed determined to escape its confines now.

He couldn’t bring himself to care how he looked; Onni hadn’t looked at him at all. Well, alright, that wasn’t _quite_ true—they’d almost managed to make eye contact when Tuuri had introduced them in person, but when Mora’s governor had announced that she was making a speech they’d been ushered to their seats, and Reynir could actually _feel_ how much Onni was avoiding looking in his direction. The older mage’s singular lack of attention felt like a cold pit in his gut.

(He’d been deliciously focused in their shared dreams. Reynir remembered that, remembered how he’d touched him with singleminded intensity, as if he thought he’d never get another chance. Remembered, too, how _tender_ he’d been, calloused fingers and sharp teeth all careful not to inflict even dream-pain. He’d taken to greeting him with quick, soft kisses, and Reynir had been half hoping for another one.)

He huffed softly. _I don’t know why I expected anything. It’s not like we ever really spoke about…this._

(There had been other things to do. Reynir remembered his hand cradling the back of Onni’s skull as the man pinned him against a hazy tree and kissed him, his braid wrapped around Onni’s fist as he took him from behind, pounding him over and over again. When he’d woken up, he’d thought he’d almost been able to feel it.)

It had only ever been in dreams, anyway. Onni surely had more important, personal things to do than muddle through…whatever this was, especially with his sister and cousin back safely from the Silent World. _I’m not going to bother him._

The speech was ending. He got to his feet and set off for the nearest buffet table, pointedly not turning his head.

\--

He couldn’t stand to look at him. It felt too much like the space left by a pulled tooth, a yawning gap where something solid should be. It had been so much easier when they’d been sleeping.

(A lot of things had been easier when they’d been sleeping. He remembered unraveling Reynir’s braid, tangling his fingers in it, the heat of his mouth as they’d kissed, the way he’d made short work of their buttons and layers to slide over soft skin. He remembered how it had felt to hold him afterwards, trace lines between his freckles.)

Reynir’s braid was much more ornate now, a complicated-looking thing of loops and shining strands that he would have been afraid to touch even if he’d been invited to. Not that he had been; they’d barely had a chance to exchange one word before the welcoming speech, and Reynir hadn’t approached him since. He couldn’t really blame him.

_It’s hardly like I’m good company, and he surely has more important things to do. He’ll go off to Iceland now, and I won’t see him again. A clean break._

But gods, Reynir looked _gorgeous_. Tall and lean, green eyes alight as he chatted with Tuuri about something Onni couldn’t hear. His new suit made him look almost polished, too rare and fragile for someone like him. _What would I even say, anyway?_

“Wow, _you’re_ Onni Hotakainen?”

He turned, blinking at the woman hovering by his elbow. “Um. Yes?”

“You’re Lalli’s cousin! I heard you taught him everything he knows.” A young man in a black wool suit, eyes alight with interest and speaking bad Finnish.

“I see good looks run in the family.” _Another_ young woman. Where were they coming from?

He knew he had to be red as a beet. “Um.”

“Onni, hi! Sorry to bother you.”

Oh, shit. Oh, _shit_. Tuuri was striding through the crowd towards him with (oh gods) Reynir in tow. He wondered if he could make himself faint. “Nngh.”

“I thought I should see how my _favorite brother_ was dealing with all the people.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Tuuri. I am your _only_ brother.”

“Tuuri Hotakainen! I’ve heard so much about you—do you really speak three languages fluently?”

Tuuri beamed at the girl. “Mm-hmm!”

“Ohmygods _Reynir Árnason_.”

Reynir blushed so brightly that his freckles vanished. “Um. Yeah?”

Onni desperately wished the sight was anything but incredibly cute. As the group that had been alarmingly close to engaging him in conversation clustered around Reynir and Tuuri instead, leaving him on the fringes, he added a futile wish for Reynir’s halting, stammering Swedish not to be so appealing. It was a lost cause. Even when he turned away, gaze drifting over the crowd, he could still hear his voice, could still hear as the group grew into a dense knot of chattering people all wanting to see and speak with the “heroes of the Silent World.” He didn’t need to speak all the Nordic languages to understand tone, and he _knew_ that at least four people were flirting very determinedly with Reynir too close to his elbow.

They were only words. They didn’t bother him. Reynir was a handsome young man, after all; he deserved the attention. Still, when he heard a man exclaim that Reynir must be so _brave_ and _strong_ , he felt his face heat up.

(Reynir hadn’t looked strong; he was more lean and wiry than anything else. Onni had been surprised at first when those big, calloused hands had so easily pinned him into place, but then Reynir had turned on that grin of his and promised to take good care of him and…well. That had been a very, very nice dream indeed.)

 _Gods, but I need a beer_. Slowly, he began making his way to the long table where all the drinks were laid out.

“…veryone _sane_ , anyway. Is that little Finn really as crazy as they say?”

The world crashed into focus. There, by the bottles of champagne, a nervous and weedy-looking young man backing away with his hands upraised had just insulted his precious cousin. Onni was going to kill him.

To his complete surprise, Emil got there first—and the Swede had an excellent right hook. Maybe he wouldn’t be an unwelcome addition to the family after all.

By the time he found himself looking around for Reynir (against his better judgement; the man drew him like a magnet to the north), he’d entirely lost him in the crowd. He couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment for the rest of the night.

\--

Reynir dreamed.

His haven was the same as it always was, rocks and fields and sheep and his fylgja trotting at his heels, and he was alone. Slowly, he sat down on the cold grass and stared up at the sky. He could count the stars, if he wanted.

He didn’t. He knew the way to Onni’s haven, he’d certainly been there enough. It would be easier to get to, now that they were close to the same physical location. _I could. I could do that. I could ask him…_

(He had. The memory was seared into him, that first time he’d gone into Onni’s haven on purpose to question him, and Onni had looked so sad and tired. _Teach me about spirits, anything you know, even if you and I don’t share the same type of magic. Please. I’m a good listener_.)

( _Are you?_ )

( _And I could repay you—if you want. I’d like to anyway_.)

( _Are you actually suggesting…oh._ Well _. …Alright_.)

Every detail was crisp in his mind. The startled disbelief in Onni’s face, as though he couldn’t quite believe this was actually happening. The way he’d touched him at first, a hesitant hand on his arm tugging him closer before Reynir had stepped in and closed the distance between them. The shaky little indrawn breath as Reynir had sunk to his knees for him. The hands in his hair, setting the pace; Reynir had yielded control gladly, swallowing him whole. The way he’d _tasted_ , imprinted so strongly in his memories that he’d been absently licking his lips all the next day in the waking world.

They’d gotten around to talking about spirits eventually. _We could have that again, if he wants to. But…it would be weird now. We’ve barely even spoken in real life. What am I supposed to do?_

He sighed, plucking a few blades of grass and letting them float back down to earth. “It’d be great if there was a manual or something for this stuff.”

His fylgja whined, nudging his ankle.

He sighed. “Why am I asking you, you’re just a spirit. You only talk when there’s some life or death fight or creepy ghost stuff going on, you don’t need to worry about love lives or anything.”

Somehow, the little dog managed to look offended.

“Maybe I _should_ talk to someone, though...” He thought hard. _Definitely not writing to my family._ _Lalli’s right out. Sigrun is scary. Mikkel will do that eye-rolling thing at me, I just know it. Emil…Emil managed to get a boyfriend without even speaking the same language, he’s not going to get it. And Tuuri…_

He winced. He knew Tuuri thought he and Onni didn't get along; part of him wanted to reassure her, but...well. There was no _polite_ way to say “sorry, your brother and I have been fucking each other silly in our dreams since January and now I don't know how to act around him.” _There’s no way around it. I’m screwed._

Staring up at the sky, he drifted off into an entirely normal dream.

\--

Onni dreamed.

His haven was pristine, untouched, the boundaries secure as castle walls. Streams burbled over rocks; stones ground against each other. In the shaggy pines, his luonto drifted from branch to branch. Unlike the rocks and water, it made no sound. Onni took a deep breath, gazing up at the heavens. The stars shone down on him bright as midday, but it was cold.

Reynir’s haven was different. Not what he would have chosen for himself, insofar as he could shape such things—a great amount of a mage’s dream-haven was unconscious—but Onni had liked it because it was uniquely _his_.

(The grass had been nice, for one thing. He still remembered how soft it had been the first time he’d been there, how Reynir had pressed him gently down into it, stripping his clothes off even as he breathed _is this alright, can I do this, do you like that_.)

( _Yes. Yes, please_.)

There hadn’t been too many words after that. They hadn’t needed any, not when Reynir had settled between his legs and smiled shyly at him. He didn’t think he’d ever forget that smile, or the way all that long red hair had spilled over both of them, or how it had felt when he’d slid into him—slowly, carefully, as though he’d been afraid he’d break him. How he’d been tender until Onni had bucked his hips, growled at him for _more_ , and then he’d grinned (bright, good-natured, wild) and given him exactly what he wanted. The next day, Onni hadn’t had so much as a twinge. He wished he had. _I can’t cross the sea as easily as he can. If I stand at the borders of my haven and call for him…_

He started to walk. He made it within sight of the edge before the terror rose up, coiling through his chest like a snake; his knees buckled under it. _No. I can’t do this._

His luonto flew a few steps ahead of him, turning to look back at him. Its voice slid through his mind without touching his ears. _“Are you coming?”_

He glared sullenly at it. “No.”

It doubled back to land heavily on his shoulder, folding its wings so suddenly that it hit him in the side of the head. _“Coward. Don’t you miss the Icelander?”_

He knew he was red. “It’s not that simple!”

_“You humans are ridiculous.”_

He stared over the rocks. _Maybe I am a coward. Maybe. But…I can’t do this._

\--

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Reynir had seen him, and in all that time he hadn’t had so much of a glimpse of him in his dreams. At least, not his _mage_ dreams; Onni had been making disturbingly regular appearances in what he’d dubbed “normal-people dreams,” and he’d woken up aroused and miserable for long enough to wonder if this was just going to be his life now.

“…so I thought we could get everyone together for dinner before you three leave for Norway—Reynir, what do you think?”

He blinked. “Um. What?”

Tuuri frowned at him. He started to get the nasty feeling that she’d been talking at him for a while. “Dinner. Tonight. All of us together; it’ll probably be the last time we’re all in one place until summer. I think it’d be nice.”

He knew he was blushing. _‘All of us’…crap, Onni will be there. Maybe I can come down with food poisoning—no. I can do this. I have to do this._ “It would be, yeah.”

“I hope my aunt and uncle can make it, they might not be able to find a babysitter for the kids—”

“Because your cousins are evil.”

“Excuse me? My cousins are angels—”

“They _cut off part of Onni’s ear_. And they called me fat!”

Emil huffed at her. “Alright, maybe they need better manners and not to be left alone around sharp objects, but they’re not _evil_. Just…difficult.”

“…Very difficult.”

“Lalli, I thought you were on my side!”

As the conversation devolved into everyone talking at once, Reynir settled back in his seat and sighed. _This is not going to be fun at all. I only hope I don’t make a complete idiot out of myself when I talk to him. And I will talk to him. I will!_

By the time dinner rolled around that night, his resolve was starting to dim. He certainly didn’t want to have any part of the conversation in public—not that he could, really, because there was no way he was going to get a word in edgewise. Any party involving Sigrun and Tuuri wasn’t a party conducive to quiet conversation, especially not with Siv Västerström roping Tuuri into a conversation about what she’d found and her husband apologizing profusely to Emil and Lalli for how mean his brother had been. (Reynir had been upset at that. _They were so rude to Lalli. My parents wouldn’t be rude to Onni—and they say rich people are supposed to have manners!_ ) At least the food was pretty good, though he didn’t have much appetite.

They’d set Onni across from him, and the other mage hadn’t been able to look up from his plate without turning a spectacular shade of pink. It would have been a good sign if not for the fact that he also hadn’t spoken more than a few words to Reynir, and was even now picking methodically at his pork chop instead of joining in any of the conversations flowing around him.

 _I can’t blame him. This is so awkward. How is it so easy in dreams, but so hard here?_ He tried a bite of his steak and frowned, reaching for the salt. Warm fingers brushed his, and he froze.

Onni made a quiet, strangled sound. “Ngh. Uh. You can have it.”

His Icelandic had gotten better. Reynir felt heat slowly rise up his face. “…Thanks.”

“…You’re welcome.” Onni wasn’t looking at him, and the blush had spread from his cheeks all the way to his ears.

Reynir knew he should say something. Anything. But at the first touch of Onni’s fingers, the memories of all the other things those fingers had done with him swam to the surface, and words failed him completely. His meal turned to cardboard in his mouth.

(He remembered them burying in his hair, digging into his shoulderblades, scratching all down his back until he was sure he’d wake up with welts over his skin, sinking into him slowly until he’d writhed and begged for more—and, too, the way they’d held him afterwards, stroked his hair, teasingly slid between his freckles until he’d giggled.)

He ate mechanically and thought hard to himself. _I want that again, but if I’m going to get it…I need to talk to him._

When dinner ended—after dessert had been cleared away, and their friends were getting up from the table—he took his chance. Onni stood up; he counted to five slowly and carefully, and then followed him out.

They were the only ones in the hallway. Good. He took a deep breath. “Hey.”

Onni stopped dead. Reynir could see the backs of his ears turning red. “Ngk.”

 _It’s now or never._ “Hey, listen, I was—um. I was sort of wondering if…maybe…”

Onni turned slowly to face him, and he swallowed hard at the look on his face. He _remembered_ that look, the barely-hidden dread that the next news was going to be bad. He’d worn it plenty of times himself. “Reynir?”

 _We still need to talk. I still need to ask him. But…he looks…so scared. He shouldn’t be scared._ He took a few steps forward to close the distance between them. He’d never stared into Onni’s eyes before; they were the same clear blue-gray in the waking world. This close, he could feel the warmth radiating from him. _That_ had never been a part of their dreams. “I…”

And then Onni was pinning him against the wall, and all thought of conversation vanished. He _wanted_. His arms went around Onni’s waist instantly, and he moaned as Onni’s mouth crashed onto his. When strong hands found his hair, tangled in it, his whole body trembled. Gods, but he’d _missed_ that, missed the solid strength of him.

Onni pulled away, voice rough. His face was flushed; this close, Reynir could see the heat in his eyes, feel the tension in his muscles. “Missed you…”

“Oh—” He couldn’t help but wriggle against him, relishing the way his cock pressed into his thigh. “I can _tell_.” It was familiar, but somehow so much more intoxicating when it was real. He ran a hand up his back to cradle the back of his neck, pulling him back in for another kiss.

Onni did not disappoint; he went willingly, pressing him firmly against the plaster behind him as he seized his mouth in a heated, hungry kiss. A faint growl rose up from somewhere in his chest, only resolving into words as his mouth left Reynir’s to trail over his throat. “You feel so _good_.”

It was all almost too much; he was achingly hard, and when Onni’s teeth grazed his neck he gasped and arched into it. “Nnh!” In answer, he gave the nape of Onni’s neck a squeeze, and was immensely gratified to hear him moan against his skin. _Not here._ Shakily, he drew in a breath. “So—ah, _Onni_ —my room?”

He twitched hard, raising his head and stepping back to look at Reynir in something like confusion. For a moment, he was terrified—but then Onni took a breath and nodded.

Reynir grabbed his hand and sprinted, grateful to all the gods he could think of that his room was on the same floor as the main dining hall. He wasn’t sure he could stand a longer trip.

His room was dark and opulent, nothing like the grass in his haven or the stone and moss in Onni’s, but Onni clearly didn’t care; as soon as they got inside, he was slamming the door shut and pinning him up against it, kissing him like he thought he might die if he stopped. Reynir kissed him back, half grinding his hips into his; when Onni shifted to start nibbling at his throat, he managed to suck in enough air to breathe, “Bed.”

Onni stepped away, breathing hard. “I—yes. Okay.”

They fell onto the bed together, Onni straddling his hips. Reynir spared a quick kiss for him before breaking away, fumbling with his clothes. He wanted to see him naked _now_. Their shoes thudded off somewhere on the carpet; Onni yanked his shirt off and he heard a button give way, but it didn’t matter because Onni’s hands were everywhere on him, sliding down his chest to his stomach, and he shivered under his touch for a moment before shifting and sitting up to fumble at Onni’s own shirt with trembling hands.

Onni paused, hands hovering at Reynir’s waistband. “I’m sorry, did you want to—talk or—”

“ _Onni_.”

Onni, blessedly, stopped talking. Getting each other’s pants off was a lot more awkward in real life, it turned out, but Reynir couldn’t bring himself to mind. Not when Onni was sliding his hands over his hips, heavy and solid and real, and not when Reynir was finally able to press his palms to his shoulderblades, flatten them over the planes of his broad back, slide down to his rear for a squeeze. That got a noise out of him, an almost startled gasp, and Reynir grinned.

When Onni slid a hand between them, wrapping firmly around Reynir’s cock, he cried out and bucked his hips into it. “Oh, _please_ …” It was so much _more_ in the waking world. Onni’s calloused hands, his hot skin, the way he huffed out a breath into Reynir’s hair; it all drove him mad. And yet, it wasn’t nearly enough; he needed more, wanted to touch him everywhere.

Onni’s cock was hot and hard in his grip; the groan as Reynir stroked him was music to his ears. “Reynir! Dear gods, you feel…” His breath came in rough pants; like this, he was as close to being at Reynir’s mercy as he ever was. And then he bent his head and nipped at his collarbone, and Reynir’s whole body jerked.

“Ah!” Gods, that was sharper than it had ever been in dreams, but it was _delicious_ , and he shuddered in pleasure as Onni did it again, fingers rippling steadily around his cock. _If he keeps this up, I’m not gonna last long at all_. “Nngh, _more_.”

“Mrr.” Wait. Onni was stopping. Why was he—oh. _Oh_. He was shifting his weight, bracing himself on the bed with one hand and wrapping the other around both their cocks at once, hot and tight, and Reynir groaned and rolled his hips into it.

It was perfect, hard and hot and a little rough, and he arched and clawed at Onni’s back, felt him shiver and hitch in return. Mouthing hard at the base of Onni’s throat got him a squeeze in return that made him jolt. “Nnh!”

And then Onni shifted his wrist and he was coming hard all over both their hands, mind blank of anything except pleasure. With a shuddering groan, Onni followed him.

They lay together, catching their breath. “…Wow.” _That was…incredible. So good._ Reynir took a breath to tell him so, but broke off when he caught sight of his face. It looked horribly like Onni’s eyes were watering. “…Allergies?”

(It had never been allergies. He knew it had never been allergies. If Onni wanted to pretend they were…well. That was alright, then.)

“…Yes.”

\--

_I am pond scum. I should never have done this. What kind of person am I?_

Onni couldn’t sleep. He’d sunk into a light doze, not deep enough to dream, but it had only lasted a few hours before he’d snapped completely awake again. He was almost glad for it; it meant there was no chance of running into Reynir, even if he wanted to. And oh, he wanted to. _Gods, take this decision out of my hands. I can’t do it._

Reynir slept heavily post-orgasm, it turned out—half curled up on his side, head pillowed against Onni’s shoulder, hair spilling out of its braid, one hand resting lightly on Onni’s hip. He was beautiful. Onni didn’t deserve him.

His eyes burned; sniffing, he wiped them on the back of his arm. _I have to get out of here_. Before he could change his mind, he edged carefully away from Reynir and started to gather his clothes. He’d never had problems seeing in the dark.

“…Onni?” Green eyes blinked at him sleepily as Reynir rolled over, pale skin shining in what little light there was. There was a vivid bite mark on his throat.

Shit. He froze like a rabbit before forcing himself to calm down. Reynir was awake. It was not the end of the world. “…Go back to sleep.” _Please_.

“Mm-hmm.”

When he heard Reynir start to snore, he very carefully crept out of the room.

\--

_I fucked up. I fucked up. I’m an idiot, I never should have pulled him into bed with me. He probably thinks that’s all I’m after now…_

It had been two days, and Onni hadn’t contacted him. In a desperate attempt to keep his mind off it, he’d offered to help Tuuri organize the notes for her next lecture. It was boring and slightly mind-numbing, but it kept him busy.

Unfortunately, it also put him in close quarters with Tuuri, who had always been the most perceptive member of the team when it came to anything that deviated from her idea of normalcy. “Reynir.”

He set down the book he’d been fetching for her. “Huh?”

“…You have been acting _weird_.” She paused, tilting her head. “Is it because of my brother?”

“ _What?!_ No!” _Can you die of embarrassment? Is that a thing that can happen? I bet it’s a thing that can happen._ “No, really.”

“Because I know he’s kind of…stern, but I swear he’s not usually this bad. He’s really pretty nice when you get to know him—”

“I slept with him.”

Tuuri stared blankly at him.

Now that the words were coming out, Reynir found he couldn’t stop them, even when his self-control screamed useless warnings at his tongue. “For most of the winter, I—in dreams, except we’ve never really _talked_ a lot and the other day I slept with him again in real life but he hasn’t said anything to me since and I don’t know what to do or whether he actually wants to date me or anything and I like him _a lot_ but I don’t want to be pushy or weird or anything—”

“ _You have been fucking my brother!_ ”

“…Uh…” He cleared his throat and nodded. _A rampaging giant would be nice right about now._

She looked faintly nauseated. “…I really never wanted to know that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you like _that_ , but…”

Tuuri took a deep breath. “Look. Reynir. The first thing you need to know about my brother is that he is, to use the words of our ancestors, a giant weenie.”

He blinked at her. “Um?”

“A weenie. A wimp. A spineless, gutless crybaby. He wouldn’t even go to the Silent World with us because he was too scared—and he’s been in the military ten years, he was _trained_ for that! This is…not what he knows. He’s scared of new things. I don’t think he’s ever even been on a real date.”

Reynir stared. “What?” _But he’s so strong and handsome and cool…_

“Yeah.” She made a face. “If he…if he did all that with you, it’s…a pretty safe bet he likes you, at least. But…yeah.”

“…Oh.” He winced. _No wonder he’s avoiding me._

She met his gaze. Her eyes were hard and cold. “If you actually want to—to _date_ him or whatever, the first thing you are going to have to do is tell him that.”

He swallowed. “Uh. Okay. Is…is there a second thing?”

She took a breath. “I know you have a lot of older siblings, much older than you. Onni’s the only older brother I have—besides Lalli, he’s my _only_ family in the world. So I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Emil, and you are going to remember it.” Her eyes narrowed. “I give you my blessing because you’re my friend…but if you hurt him, there will not be enough magic in the world to protect you. No corner of the Known World is going to be far enough away for you to hide.”

He’d never been on the receiving end of that kind of speech; normally he stood by, mortally embarrassed, while his siblings gave it. It wasn’t any better. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’ll…do my best, then.”

“Okay.” Her smile almost reached her eyes. “Good luck getting it through Onni’s thick skull.”

\--

This was it. Today was the day Reynir would leave for Iceland to study his own brand of magic, and Onni knew he would probably never see him again. The thought felt like a knife in his throat. _I should have been braver. I am such a coward. Owl was right._

Worse, he had to go see him off at the train station. The thought of pleading illness occurred to him and was just as quickly dismissed. No, he was at least brave enough for this.

Reynir was waiting outside when he got there. Onni almost turned and ran; he’d thought he’d been mentally prepared for this, but actually _seeing_ him—tall, young, handsome, with that long braid thrown casually over one shoulder—made his heart flutter. His voice was quiet and hesitant, and Onni felt sick. “…Onni? I have a question for you.”

He swallowed hard. _I can do this. I will not faint. I am a Hotakainen. I will not faint._ But his heart seemed to have lodged itself in his throat, and for a moment he had to grope for words. “Yes?”

“Um. So. What I was wondering is…” He took a deep breath.

Onni was afraid to breathe. _Not going to faint. Might die. Lalli gets my knives._ “Mm?”

“…Do you want to, um. Go out with me? I know it’d have to be long distance for now, but we can write—and we could meet each other in dreams. Um. If you want. I don’t want to impose—”

He still felt as though he was going to die, but now for an entirely different reason. “I…”

Reynir was nearly as red as his hair. It was _adorable_. “I’m sorry.”

And then he was turning away, and Onni swore to himself and reached for his hands. _No. No, I’m not going to be without this anymore._ “Reynir.”

He went still as a statue—all except his fingers, which hesitantly slid through Onni’s own. “…So…um…”

“Come to my haven tonight?”

Somehow, he hadn’t expected Reynir to turn and throw himself into his arms, pulling him into a kiss in front of the entire square, but he also wasn’t complaining. Even when Tuuri stuck her head out from within the station and made loud fake gagging noises.

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to believe that Reynir did not manage to acquire some sexual/romantic experience in Iceland. Sure, he's a dork, but he's a _cute_ dork, and there's not a whole lot else to do in winter on an Icelandic sheep farm.


End file.
